


Christmas at The Dog and Duck

by Writcraft



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Community: hd_erised, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2016-12-22
Packaged: 2018-09-10 15:19:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8922181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Because life has a habit of conspiring against him, Harry finds himself on a weekend away with Malfoy.  The fact he can’t forget that one, searing kiss is definitely going to be a problem.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Isinuyasha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isinuyasha/gifts).



> I was delighted to be able to write something for you, Isinuyasha. Your art is absolutely fantastic and you bring me lots of happiness with your gorgeous pictures! I do hope you enjoy the gift. Thanks to the moderators for running this fest and for your hard work and patience. Happy Holidays to all celebrating!

It’s all Harry can do to bite his tongue when Malfoy starts speaking. There’s something about Malfoy which gets under his skin and makes him want to behave like a teenager again, stomping his feet and casting angry spells in Malfoy’s general direction. Not _Sectumsempra_ kind of angry, obviously. More a light Stinging Hex or something which turns Malfoy into a flobberworm for a few hours. Mainly to give Harry some peace and quiet, because he’s pretty sure flobberworms can’t speak or offer aggravating opinions on the state of his hair or clothes.

He grits his teeth as Malfoy prods a slender finger at the Potent Potions cocktail recipe which was a lot of hard work. It took Harry at least three nights of drinking everything from Schnapps to Baileys before he perfected something cinnamon spiced and chocolatey. It’s delicious, if he does say so himself. Much better than Malfoy’s suggestions which seem to mainly involve edible silver leaf and making everything look as expensive and Slytherin as possible.

“It’s hardly elegant, is it, Potter?”

“I wasn’t going for elegant. It’s supposed to be fun. It’s the Auror end of year party, not some stuffy event like the Ministry Yule Ball. We’re not trying to impress anyone. People just want to have a few drinks and a laugh.”

“I was thinking champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate.” Malfoy ignores Harry completely. “That fancy stuff from Belgium. If it’s not at least seventy per cent. cocoa, we might as well not bother at all.”

Harry stares at Malfoy. “It’s chocolate on strawberries. I couldn’t give a Kneazle’s whisker about the cocoa content. Neither will anyone else after a Potent Potion or three.”

Malfoy arches his eyebrow in Harry’s direction. “We’ve all seen your moves on the dance floor after a few too many. You should probably limit yourself to one or two as I’m bound to need some assistance on the night.” Malfoy licks his lips, giving Harry a look which is disconcertingly sultry. “I wouldn’t want you to get distracted from the task at hand.”

Harry’s cheeks heat and he gives Malfoy a look. “Shut it. Like you’re one to talk. I’ve seen what you’re like after a few. A few glasses of that posh champagne and a couple of chocolate covered strawberries and you’ll be a bloody nightmare.”

Malfoy waves his hand, dismissing Harry’s comment. “Nonsense. There’s a reason Kingsley asked me to help you organise this stupid party. I’ve had a successful year organising the grandest Ministry events-”

Harry pulls a face and mutters under his breath. “Boring and poncy events if you ask me.” Malfoy doesn’t have to know he told Ron he’d Avada Kedavra for another one of those chocolate fondants at that bash with the American Ministry. His mouth waters just thinking about it.

“I didn’t ask you.” Malfoy glares at Harry. “Know your strengths, Potter. You might be good at handling a broom and reminding people how insufferably noble you are at every given opportunity, but a party planner you’re not. Kingsley clearly can’t trust you not to try to feed people inadequate chocolate. If you had your way we’d be going to the Forester’s Arms and eating chip butties. Thank goodness I stepped in when I did.”

Anger curls in the pit of Harry’s belly. Really, Malfoy makes him _furious_. He folds his arms and glares at Malfoy. “I didn’t hear you complaining last Friday. You seem quite fond of the Forester’s Arms these days.” 

Of _course_ Malfoy’s started turning up to Harry’s favourite pub, dressed in Muggle suits with velvet detail and ludicrous satin lapels. Of course he couldn’t just bugger off somewhere else and leave Harry to enjoy a pint of lager in peace. Instead Malfoy had spent the last few months wormed between Harry and Ron every Friday night, making scathing observations about Harry’s lack of competence in…well…just about everything. Three weekends on the trot, Harry’s gone home with the crisp scent of Malfoy’s cologne lingering on his jumper and his skin warm from the places Malfoy managed to press against him in the most irritating way.

If he went home last weekend with the taste of Malfoy’s whisky cocktail on his lips, well. That’s just a reminder that it’s a bad idea to get pissed around Malfoy. They're bound to end up in the loos or in some alley somewhere, shoving each other against bricks or tiles and kissing until Harry’s lips feel raw.

He swallows. His eyes are lingering on Malfoy’s lips which have formed into a distracting half-smile. The insolence is staggering. If Malfoy thinks he can come into Harry’s place of work and try to turn the Aurors’ party into some kind of charade, he’s got another think coming. Kingsley’s budget doesn’t exactly extend to Dom Perignon and caviar, so Malfoy’s just going to have to come up with something else.

“I didn’t hear you complaining either.” Malfoy smirks at Harry, leaning forward a little. He smells good enough to eat. “It was really more of a throaty groan.”

Harry huffs and ducks his head so Malfoy can’t see the heat on his cheeks which seems to have intensified. Bloody Malfoy. 

“We can’t afford any of this stuff. Keep costs down, Kingsley said. I was hoping we could make a donation to the Crup Shelter in Battersea.”

Malfoy looks like he couldn’t give a fuck about the Crups. “I’ve got a contact in Surrey. They’ve offered to do us a fantastic deal on the booze. It wouldn’t be right not to have any fizz.” He pulls together the papers on the desk, packing his things up. “We’re going there this weekend.”

Harry looks up. This time Malfoy’s the one who seems to be avoiding eye-contact. “We’re doing what?”

“Going to a Muggle pub in Surrey, do keep up.”

“For the weekend?”

“We couldn’t possibly Apparate.” Malfoy focuses on shuffling his papers again instead of looking at Harry. “Muggles everywhere, trying to do their Christmas shopping.”

“Then we’ll use the Floo.”

Malfoy shakes his head. “Although there’s a high concentration of Muggles at this time of year, the village itself is rather secluded. It’s nowhere near a Floo Network. Anyone would think I’m suggesting we go to Manchester for a weekend. Honestly, Potter.”

Harry splutters. “Then I’ll arrange a Portkey.”

“Time, cost…” Malfoy waves his hand airily. “It wouldn’t be possible. The logistics are all a bit too challenging. We’ll do this the Muggle way. Here.” Malfoy puts a small, rectangular piece of card on the desk.

Harry frowns at it. “ _You’re_ getting the train?”

Malfoy’s nose wrinkles. “Actually, that’s your ticket. You can meet me there. We have rooms booked for Friday and Saturday night. If you can drag yourself away from the Forester’s Arms, that is.”

Harry lets out a sound which is half distress, half frustration. He can hardly tolerate Malfoy for a few hours let alone spend an entire weekend with him. He can only imagine what it’s going to be like with Malfoy clad in his sinfully decadent Muggle attire, smirking at Harry with his kissable - _annoying_ \- lips. It’s going to drive Harry _barmy_.

“Out of the question. We’ll just have to go back to the drawing board.”

“I’ve already told Kingsley we’re going. He was delighted. There’s nothing better for Muggle and Wizarding relationships than coming together during the festive season, he said.”

“I bet he did,” Harry growls. Malfoy’s _impossible_. He knows Harry’s not going to be able to tell Kingsley they can’t go to Surrey just because Harry can’t stand to be in Malfoy’s presence for too long. He’s already had a ticking off for complaining about getting Malfoy to work on the stupid party in the first place. “You’re an arse.”

Malfoy makes a non-committal sound and flashes Harry a devastating smile. “Better wrap up warm. It’s cold at this time of year and there won’t be any opportunity to use heating charms to make the place any warmer. The magic will make the Muggle electronics go haywire.” Malfoy opens the door, giving Harry a smug look. “Of course, if it gets too cold we can always huddle together for warmth. I’ve booked a table for two at eight p.m. and I’ll owl the details. Don’t be late and please try not to dress like you’re in somebody else’s ill-fitting cast offs for once.”

With that, Malfoy closes the door and leaves Harry gaping after him.

He studies his train ticket and realises Malfoy never told him how he was getting there. Private helicopter, probably. Harry huffs. A lift might have been nice.

He sits back and tries to ignore the way his stomach twists with anticipation at the thought of a weekend with Malfoy.

Bloody Malfoy.

*

It takes two trains and a rickety bus to get to The Dog and Duck which is nestled cosily in the heart of a quaint village. The houses are small and tightly packed, some with thatched roofs and others with little Christmas lights twinkling from the windows. There’s not a single Muggle in sight. Harry could have Apparated into the middle of the street and nobody would have noticed a thing.

He lets out a low growl of annoyance and shifts his rucksack on his shoulder. The bus was freezing and he’s fairly certain his fingers are going to fall off if he has to lug his things around anymore. He pushes his way inside the pub, ducking down to avoid hitting his head on the low beam. 

“Finally.” Malfoy stands, as if he’s been waiting for Harry. He’s got a half-finished glass of wine and he looks warm. Warm, relaxed and like someone who hasn’t had to negotiate Muggle train timetables, a half hour delay in Little Sutton and a bus journey from hell. Harry glares at Malfoy and drops his rucksack on the seat. It’s bloody annoying, is what it is. Annoying and unfair. Malfoy looks freshly showered and delicious. He’s got a light flush in his cheeks from the fire and his hair is carefully styled as always, not a strand out of place. His navy Muggle jumper looks expensive and he’s wearing black jeans which hug his thighs in all the right places. He’s so fucking lovely looking, Harry doesn’t know whether to kiss him or throttle him.

“That journey was a bloody nightmare. Not that you’d know anything about _that_. How did you get here, anyway? Helicopter?”

Malfoy snorts with laughter. “Hardly. I Apparated.”

Harry stares at Malfoy. “You said we couldn’t Apparate. Too many Muggles, you said.” Harry really does want to throttle Malfoy now. “Which was obviously complete Hippogriff bollocks by the way. I haven’t seen a Muggle since I got off that bus. I thought the wheels were going to fall off when we went through Bishop’s Thorton.”

“But they didn’t and here you are.” Malfoy gives Harry a quick look up and down. “Fortunately while you were gallivanting all over the country, I was able to get some work done. I’ve arranged everything. It’s all here, if you want to take a look.” Malfoy hands Harry an envelope. “I think you’ll find it’s all within budget with one hundred Galleons left over for those Kneazles of yours.”

“Crups.” Harry’s blood boils and he’s about two seconds away from punching Malfoy in the nose. 

“Crups, Kneazles, Hippogriffs…” Malfoy rolls his eyes. “The disenfranchised are lucky they have you.” 

“I’m going home.” Harry picks up his rucksack again, his voice tight. He doesn’t particularly want to go back to London. As much as he hates to admit it, it’s a really decent choice of Malfoy’s. The little pub is full of Christmas decorations and there’s the scent of something delicious wafting in from the dining room. His mouth waters. “Right now.” He doesn’t sound quite as firm as he intended.

“Come on.” Malfoy sighs and steps closer to Harry. His eyes are impossibly grey and mesmerising when he’s this close. Harry wants to kiss that smirk right off his face. “You’re not an idiot, Potter, as much as it pains me to admit it.”

“Thanks ever so.” Harry turns his eyes heavenward, largely so he doesn’t have to stare into Malfoy’s eyes for too much longer. They have a rather dizzying effect on him. 

“You believed me when I said we couldn’t use the Floo, Apparate _or_ get a Portkey?” Malfoy snorts. “You can _fly_ , Potter and I’ve never heard of an Auror having trouble arranging a Portkey if he needs one. You’ve also got an Invisibility Cloak so you can Apparate anywhere as long as you don’t land on someone. Even if you do, I’m sure you could probably Obliviate them. Besides, you can’t possibly think it takes a full weekend to buy a few bottles of booze for a party with that kind of paltry budget?”

Heat flares in Harry’s cheeks and he rubs his forehead. “It made sense when you said it. Why the hell do you think I’ve spent the last three hours on Muggle transport?”

“Because you were just as desperate to spend the weekend with me as I was with you, I assume.” Malfoy gives Harry a look. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

Harry swallows and is suddenly aware of how close they’re standing. When he speaks, his voice comes out rough and a little bit shaky. “Next you’ll be telling me they ran out of rooms and we have to share.”

Malfoy’s lips tilt into a smile. “Even I’m not that transparent. Your room’s there if you want to use it.”

Harry’s heart pounds in his chest as images run through his mind showing him in explicit detail why he might not want to use his own room. He imagines Malfoy beneath his hands and the way he might sound after…

Christ. Harry shifts in place, glaring at Malfoy who looks far too smug for his own good.

“I need a shower.”

“Be my guest.” Malfoy gestures to a small sign which points in the direction of the reception. “If you’re down before eight I might even buy you a drink.”

“Lucky me.” Harry shakes his head and turns his back on Malfoy, trying to remember how to breathe again.

*

Harry showers quickly, taking a moment to have a somewhat unsatisfactory wank which culminates with Malfoy’s name falling from his lips. At least if he’s not horny he might be able to resist Malfoy’s questionable charms for a bit longer.

He drops his head against the tiles and pulls a face as the water slides over his skin and soothes his tired muscles. The thing is, he’s not sure why he wants to resist Malfoy, apart from the fact he can be a right prat at times. Malfoy’s right. If Harry had spent any time thinking about the most inaccessible pub in the whole of Britain, he wouldn’t have trusted Malfoy for a moment. He believed Malfoy because he wanted to. 

The feeling in Harry’s belly returns – the nervous excitement and the rising sense of anticipation. The Dog and Duck is warm, comfortable and absolutely perfect for a few nights away from the hustle and bustle of London. Malfoy’s not half as bad as he pretends to be, even if he does get under Harry’s skin like nobody else can manage. 

With a sigh, Harry steps out of the shower and dries himself off. He tries very hard not to blush when he sorts through the clothes in his case and realises he actually thought about what to bring for the weekend. Harry never thinks about his clothes. It’s about all he can do to put on matching socks in the morning, because he’s usually running late for one meeting or another. The last time he thought this much about what he was going to wear was for a terrible date with Oliver Wood which involved a lot of Quidditch innuendo (Oliver) and an awkward handshake at the end (Harry) and that was that. He hasn’t really had much opportunity to see anyone since leaving Hogwarts. Apart from his few heated snogs with Malfoy, he’s had very little experience. 

In the end he settles on jeans and a smart jumper, taking his lead from Malfoy and trying to push any thoughts of Malfoy’s romantic history to the back of his mind.

Taking a breath, he puts on deodorant and cologne and then leaves the room, ignoring the way his stomach swoops again as he makes his way downstairs.

*

“Drink?” Malfoy’s eyes linger on Harry’s torso, before he looks up. His eyes are dark and his cheeks flushed as he stares at Harry. “It’s on me after all of the effort you went to.” He leans closer, his breath warm and sweet on Harry’s earlobe. “I can’t _believe_ you got the train.”

“Oh, bugger off.” Harry nudges Malfoy with his elbow. “I’ll have something expensive.”

Malfoy raises his eyebrows. “You always drink lager. Pints of lager.”

“Not when you’re paying, I don’t.” Harry narrows his eyes to try to see what’s on offer at the bar but he has to admit a cold pint sounds just about perfect right now. Besides, even if Malfoy buys him a whole bottle of their most expensive spirit it’s probably not going to make a dent in his vaults. He sighs. “Fine, I’ll have a guest ale.”

“Of course you will.” Malfoy shakes his head but makes his way to the bar nevertheless. He returns with a pint and a small glass of red, sitting opposite Harry at the small table. Their legs knock together and Harry holds Malfoy’s gaze for a charged moment, before having a sip of his drink.

“Do you do this a lot, then? Make up stories about faulty Floos and heavily populated Muggle villages to get unsuspecting wizards to spend the weekend with you?” Harry winces even as the words leave his lips. That’s really not how he meant to put it, the lightness not really coming through and the look on Malfoy’s face making him want to smack himself.

“Is that what you think?” Malfoy looks pinched and uncertain and Harry shakes his head.

“No, bloody hell. I was joking.”

“Ha, ha.” Malfoy stares at his hands for a moment before looking away. “I used to come to this village as a child. We stopped coming shortly after I started at Hogwarts. The wizarding family that owned one of the stately homes moved abroad and father decided we shouldn’t come back. Too many Muggles, not enough wizards. I don’t think there’s a single wizarding family left here, now.”

“Oh.” Harry hates the way Malfoy still looks uncharacteristically sad, his cheeks flushed pink and his knuckles white as he clutches onto his glass. He doesn’t seem interested in meeting Harry’s gaze, staring intently at a trophy on the wall and a picture of a Muggle cricket team as if it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. “Well, I like it. It’s cosy.”

Malfoy shrugs. “I haven’t been here since I came with my parents. If that answers your question.”

“No, I…” Harry groans and rakes his hand through his hair. He gives Malfoy’s hand a quick squeeze and it’s enough to get Malfoy looking at him again, although he slips his hand from Harry’s after a moment. “Look, I’ve not done much of this. I know the _Prophet’s_ always on about me being out with half the witches in London but I’m not. I don’t.” Harry shrugs.

Malfoy furrows his brow but he looks a bit more like his old self again. “I had actually gathered those articles were a load of bollocks. You _are_ gay, aren’t you? Otherwise I’m not surprised you’re feeling awkward.”

Harry grins, pleased to see Malfoy looking a bit more like his usual, aggravating self. “I’m gay. That doesn’t mean I’m off out with wizards all the time either though. Or at all, really.”

“Oh.” Malfoy ponders that for a moment. “Well, that doesn’t surprise me much either.”

Harry gives Malfoy a look. “No?”

“No.” Malfoy glares at Harry’s hair. “Not with that ridiculous mop on your head and the way you usually look like you got dressed in the dark. Not to mention your insufferable hero complex and the way you’re always talking about saving one unfortunate rare breed of Crup or another.”

“One time. I’ve mentioned Crups _one time_.” Harry takes a sip of his beer and he tries not to say something he might regret. He can’t believe he actually wanted to cuddle Malfoy a moment ago. He’s back to wanting to throttle him again.

“It must have been one of your other causes then.” Malfoy waves a hand and he sips his wine, contemplating Harry over the rim of his glass. When he speaks again, his voice is low and quieter than usual. “I don’t do a lot of going out with other wizards either. I haven’t done a lot of that. A lot of anything.”

A flush of warmth courses through Harry’s veins and he can’t help but smile. He doesn’t really care what Malfoy’s done or who he’s done it with but there’s something about knowing they’re both in the same boat that makes him feel less unstable. He gets a surge of confidence and he leans forward, letting his eyes flicker to Malfoy’s lips before he meets his eyes. 

“I’m not surprised. The way you’re always going on about strawberries and being annoying.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes and he flashes Harry a smile. “Oh come on, Potter. Obviously, I have you thoroughly charmed. You’re here, aren’t you?”

Harry laughs, because he can’t argue with that.

*

They finish their drinks and settle at a small table for supper in a small dining area which is even more festive than the pub. A stout tree occupies a space in the corner and its lights are bright and colourful. The baubles are rich blue, fuchsia and silver and a small silver star winks at them both. The room is heated by another roaring log fire and the other tables are full, the hum of chatter warm and pleasant without being intrusive.

“I’m starving.” Harry’s reminded he really is when his stomach growls as he contemplates the menu. 

“The portions are enormous. I came here once with mother and father. I remember having a chocolate ice-cream and it was so big I could hardly make a dent in it. Father made me leave it. He had a problem with the wine list so we never came back.”

“It looks alright to me.” Harry scans the list, looking quickly at Malfoy who seems lost in thought. He knows Malfoy was spoiled rotten but he wonders if everything was quite as straightforward as that. 

“Of course it does.” Malfoy huffs and takes the list, scanning it like he doesn’t think much of Harry’s opinion. “Do you have anywhere like this?”

“There’s Godric’s Hollow. I’m working on rebuilding the cottage where my parents used to live.”

“Isn’t that a bit morbid?” Malfoy looks up, his nose wrinkled.

Harry shakes his head, raising an eyebrow at Malfoy. “You do _know_ what Grimmauld Place is like?”

Malfoy shudders and nods, before looking back at the menu. “I’ve got an idea. Are you selling it?”

“No.” Harry pauses while the waiter takes their order and then sits back once the menus have been cleared away. “I need a base in London for work. I don’t want to spend all my time there, though. Are you still at the Manor?”

“Not anymore.” Malfoy pours them both a glass of water. “I’ve just moved. To Islington, as a matter of fact.”

“Near to me.” Harry can’t help but smile at that. Maybe Grimmauld Place won’t be so bad after all with Malfoy nearby. He mentally rolls his eyes at himself. He’s fairly certain Malfoy’s still going to drive him up the wall, even if he does look fantastic in navy, bathed in the soft glow of the fire. 

“It wasn’t intentional.” Pink spots bloom in Malfoy’s cheeks and it’s a good look on him. Harry hums without comment, taking a slow sip of his drink and keeping his gaze firmly on Malfoy. It’s usually Malfoy invading Harry’s space with easy confidence and Harry can’t help but enjoy watching Malfoy shift in his seat, unsettled for once. 

“Should I ask what you’ve got planned for the rest of the weekend?” Harry’s voice is oddly low and throaty and he can feel the heat creep up his neck and onto his cheeks, because he has a few ideas about how to while away the hours.

Malfoy’s lips twitch into a smile but he keeps his tone cool and snooty. “A brisk country walk, perhaps?”

“I’d like that.” Harry’s surprised to find he really would, the idea of walking in the cold winter air and coming back to The Dog and Duck for hot chocolate by the fire all too appealing. “I like walking at this time of year.”

“Me too.” Malfoy sits back while the waiter pours the wine, but doesn’t take his eyes off Harry. “Which is something.”

“Something?”

“Something we’ve got in common.” Malfoy sips his wine and contemplates Harry.

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure we can find more things than that.” Harry gives Malfoy a wink which makes him squirm slightly in place again. 

A syrupy warmth slides through Harry’s veins and he casts one last long, hungry look at Malfoy before he tucks into his food feeling thoroughly content.

*

After supper they return to the pub. It’s empty, save for a barman who polishes a couple of glasses and then makes his way into the back room muttering something about calling him if they need anything. Harry settles onto a comfortable seat and is surprised when Malfoy sits next to him, instead of opposite. They still have wine left from the meal and Harry takes a careful sip, quite unable to ignore the heat of Malfoy’s body so close to his own.

“Not a bad idea, this.” Although conversation had flown easily – surprisingly easily – during their meal, Harry’s back to feeling a bit unsteady now Malfoy’s pressed so close to him. He can still remember the feeling of Malfoy’s lips against his own, the taste of whisky on his tongue and the soft huffs of breath which left Malfoy’s parted lips. He gives Malfoy a quick look out of the corner of his eye. “Were you drunk last Friday?”

Malfoy meets Harry’s gaze and he smirks. “Obviously.”

Harry snorts because he can tell by the way Malfoy’s eyes are shining that he’s obviously teasing. He clears his throat. “Bit of a surprise, really.”

“Was it?” Malfoy nudges Harry with his elbow. “Haven’t we been building up to that all year?”

Harry thinks of the number of times he slammed his fist on the desk or complained to Ron and Hermione about _Malfoy this, Malfoy that_. He thinks of the way his blood boils when Malfoy’s particularly aggravating and the way that’s slowly but surely turned into a different kind of heat. He laughs, rubbing his hand against the back of his neck. Trust him to end up in some ridiculous kind of mating dance with Malfoy. 

“We need better foreplay.”

Malfoy edges closer, his breath warm against the shell of Harry’s ear. “I have some ideas.”

“ _Fuck_.” Harry bites back a groan and then he faces Malfoy. He looks into his eyes and presses their legs together, the heat from Malfoy’s thigh burning through his jeans. “You’ll have to tell me about them.”

“I’ll show you, if you like.” Malfoy traces a pattern on Harry’s leg with his finger, every touch sending sparks through Harry.

It’s too much. Harry can’t stop himself from reaching for Malfoy and pulling him close until their lips connect for the second time in a fortnight. This kiss is different to the last. It’s not an angry, off the back of a fight kind of kiss. It’s slow, steady and deep. Malfoy lets out a low groan as he shifts closer to Harry and the sound leaves him breathless. He opens his mouth to the kiss and slides his arms around Malfoy until he hears someone clearing their throat.

“Last orders.”

A bit dazed, Harry pulls himself away from Malfoy who swipes the corner of his mouth with his thumb, making Harry think of all kinds of filthy things. He blinks at the barman who winks at him.

“Last orders,” he repeats. “If you want anything.”

“Do you?” Malfoy’s voice is low and rougher than usual.

“Yeah.” Harry turns back to Malfoy, his own voice shaking at the edges. “I do.”

*

When Malfoy opens the door to his room, Harry kisses him again with more urgency this time. He pushes Malfoy against the closed door and tangles his fingers in Malfoy’s hair, deepening the kiss. The way Malfoy’s body undulates against his own sends pleasure through his body. He dips his fingers under Malfoy’s fitted jumper to touch the hot skin beneath it. When he does so, Malfoy arches into him and his breathing shudders into Harry’s mouth as if even that small touch is electrifying. Harry knows the feeling. With Malfoy’s mouth hot and hard against his own and the slide of Malfoy’s tongue in his mouth, he’s getting a bit dizzy. He can’t decide what he wants to do next, part of him wanting to strip Malfoy out of his clothes and keep him pressed against the wall and the other part of him wanting to take his time to savour every inch of Malfoy’s body.

In the end, the kissing is too good and Harry can’t stop – can’t break away for even a moment. He mouths a line down Malfoy’s neck and he unbuckles Malfoy’s trousers, groaning when he feels Malfoy reaching for his belt.

“I can’t…wanted to take my time.”

“We’ve got plenty of time.” Malfoy nips at Harry’s earlobe and then reaches inside Harry’s trousers, his breathing faltering as he wraps a cool hand around Harry’s aching cock. “Impressive, Potter.”

Harry snorts with laughter and he buries his head against Malfoy’s shoulder while he catches his breath. “Thanks.” He groans and bucks into Malfoy’s hand when Malfoy squeezes in response. He makes quick work of opening Malfoy’s trousers and then he’s got his hand around Malfoy’s cock and it’s hard, slim, long and so, so arousing Harry thinks he’s going to lose his fucking mind. He pushes Malfoy’s hand off him and stifles the protest with another kiss before dropping to his knees. It’s not the most elegant of motions and the carpet’s not as soft as it looks, but he doesn’t care. He just wants to get his mouth on Malfoy and taste every inch of him. When he looks up, Malfoy’s giving him a strange stare as if he can’t quite believe what he’s seeing.

“Harry…” It’s the first time Malfoy’s called him anything than _Potter_ and it’s almost unnerving hearing his own name from Malfoy’s lips. He swallows thickly and sits back on his heels, watching Malfoy. 

“It’s okay?”

Malfoy drops his head back against the door and groans. “Jesus Christ. Of course it’s okay you bloody idiot. Get on with it.”

Balance restored, Harry smothers a laugh and then edges forward. He wets his lips and slides them over Malfoy after tonguing at the salty tip of his cock. He presses down until the solid weight of Malfoy fills his mouth and he slides, forward and back. He uses his hands to grip Malfoy’s hips and push him back against the door, largely to stop the way he bucks forward into Harry’s throat. He wants to take his time. He wants to hear Malfoy make those little whimpers of pleasure and the way his breath leaves his parted lips in jagged sighs. He wants to hear Malfoy call him _Harry_ again with that odd, blissful sort of reverence. He wants to have Malfoy squirming and begging and pulsing down his throat with a shout of pleasure.

He looks up again to find Malfoy watching him and he’s surprised when Malfoy pushes a hand into his hair and strokes Harry’s bottom lip with his thumb, where it’s stretched around Malfoy.

“You really are…impossible.” Malfoy seems to change his choice of word at the last moment, his voice warm and fond and his eyes dark pools. He juts forward a little, the hand in Harry’s hair tightening and they find a rhythm like that. Sometimes Malfoy holds Harry down a little and he’s surprised to find he likes it. He likes being on his knees and left breathless as Malfoy pushes inside his open mouth. He takes a moment to breathe, tonguing over the length of Malfoy’s delectable prick and noting every flex of his thighs and breathy sound of pleasure. Then he stops teasing and he’s back on Malfoy again, sliding his lips around him and taking him as deep as he can.

It’s not long before Malfoy comes, after tugging on Harry’s hair and letting out a strangled sound as warning. Harry doesn’t care. He _wants_ to taste Malfoy. He swallows and finally pulls off Malfoy when he can feel him start to soften in his mouth. He stands on shaky legs and before he can say anything, Malfoy’s wrapped around him and kissing him firmly. His hand’s back on Harry’s cock and then he’s coming hard into Malfoy’s fist, groaning out a breathless _Draco_ into his mouth.

They break apart eventually, Malfoy leaning against the door and buckling his jeans again. He runs a hand through his hair which is pleasingly dishevelled and glances towards the bed and then back at Harry.

“That was…”

“Unexpected?”

“Not completely.” Malfoy shrugs and his cheeks flush a dusty pink. “Are you tired?”

“A bit.” Harry isn’t, particularly. He feels a bit awkward now, with the taste of Malfoy and the memory of the heavy weight of his cock making his lips tingle. He clears his throat and studies his feet. “You want to go to bed then?”

“We probably should.” Malfoy doesn’t make any move to undress, instead pushing himself off the door and busying himself with a small Muggle kettle. “Tea?”

“Err, no.” Harry stands at the door, wondering if he’s being invited to stay or if Malfoy would prefer him to make the short journey to his own room. The room is thick with tension now and there’s a silence between them which no longer feels comfortable. He’s got so much he wants to say but it’s difficult to articulate any of it with his thoughts spinning recklessly out of control and his heart still pounding in his chest. “I’ll be off then?”

Malfoy’s shoulders tense, briefly but he nods. “If you like.”

Harry doesn’t like. He wants to curl up in Malfoy’s bed next to him and wait until they’re both ready for another go. He wants to tell Malfoy how confused he makes him and how even when he’s angry he still loves the way his senses infuse with Malfoy’s presence, the sharp, angular lines of him and the soft huffs of breath which carry Harry’s name on an unsteady whisper. 

“Right, then. I’ll see you at breakfast?”

Malfoy shrugs. “Ten o’clock. I’m going to have a lie in.”

“Alright.” Harry sighs and he opens the door. He leans against it for a moment as it closes behind him.

The little pub, once so warm and cosy, suddenly feels cold.

*

Harry sleeps badly, tossing and turning. His dreams are punctuated with images of Malfoy. There’s Malfoy’s first night in the Forester’s Arms, looking around with a haughty glare the barest flicker of uncertainty crossing his face. Harry remembers the way Malfoy approached their table and the way he, Harry, had told Malfoy to bugger off. The look on Malfoy’s face had Ron snorting into his drink and Hermione giving Harry one of her thoroughly unimpressed looks.

“Or you could join us, Draco,” she said. Harry sighs and remembers how his skin burned with Malfoy’s arm strong and slender against his own. He thinks about the way Malfoy’s always just _there_ finding excuse after excuse to bother Harry at work. Not that Harry minds being bothered. It’s pretty much paperwork and the odd call to Muggle properties to deal with children coming into their magic these days. There’s something about having Malfoy lounging in his office in an expensive sort of fashion which makes his days less tedious. 

“Bugger.” Harry rubs his eyes and sits up in his bed. “I like Malfoy.” He says it out loud to an empty room and the words hang there. He wishes he could speak to someone for advice but this definitely isn’t the kind of place you can make a quick Fire Call. 

He pulls a face and yanks the duvet over his head, trying to banish images of Malfoy from his mind and finally get some rest.

It’s a good hour or so before he finally drifts off into a fitful sleep as the watery winter sun begins to slip through the cracks in the curtains.

*

Malfoy’s freshly showered, reading a Muggle paper with a frown on his face when Harry gets downstairs. His body is tense and his expression cool and unwelcoming when he looks up.

“You can leave, if you want to. I don’t want to keep you here against your will.”

Harry stares at Malfoy before sitting opposite him. “I thought we had plans? A walk or something.”

Malfoy’s lips tighten into a line. “Did you?”

Harry shrugs, the awkward feeling back again and the air heavy between them. “I thought it might be nice.”

Malfoy makes a non-committal sound. “You look appalling, by the way.”

Harry frowns, running a hand through his hair. “Thanks. I didn’t get much sleep.”

“No?” A flicker of emotion crosses Malfoy’s features before it’s gone again. “I slept like a baby.”

“Of course you did.” Harry rolls his eyes. Malfoy looks as pristine and well put together as ever, although Harry’s got a sneaking suspicion Malfoy didn’t sleep all that well. He’s already on his second coffee. “Have you ordered?”

“Smoked salmon and scrambled eggs.” Malfoy rustles his paper, pointedly not meeting Harry’s gaze. “You can order your own.”

Harry waves to one of the waiters and does just that, leaning forward when he leaves the table. “Are you going home?”

Malfoy looks up, his gaze sharp. After a moment he huffs and then shakes his head. “I’ve paid for two nights, I don’t want it to go to waste.”

“I’d like to stay, too.” Harry takes a sip of his coffee and winces when it burns its tongue. “We could go for that walk after all?”

Malfoy returns to his paper but there’s a small smile on his lips and he doesn’t say no.

*

After a bit of grumbling from Malfoy, they make it out to the small village after noon. The day is brisk and cool with blue sky and only a smattering of light clouds. It’s perfect in every way, or it would be if Malfoy wasn’t frowning and looking like somebody stole his favourite crup. A nagging guilt gnaws at Harry and he breathes out, watching the way his breath forms little clouds of white in front of his face. After a moment he reaches across the space between them and slides his hand into Malfoy’s.

“Potter…”

“Harry, actually.”

“ _Harry_.” Malfoy growls out the name but he doesn’t let go of Harry’s hand. If anything he holds on a little bit tighter. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“I thought that was obvious.” Harry shifts a bit closer and squeezes Malfoy’s hand, walking slowly through the streets. It’s practically deserted and the little shops have inviting signs in the windows and trays of delicious looking cakes, scotch eggs and handmade pies. “I’m holding your hand.”

Harry can almost hear Malfoy rolling his eyes. “Why?”

“Because when I couldn’t sleep last night I realised that I might actually like you.” Harry keeps a firm hold of Malfoy’s hand when he tries to pull away. “I also shouldn’t have left last night.”

“I didn’t care.” Malfoy’s tone bellies his words. “Like I said-”

“You slept like a baby, I know.” Harry raises his eyebrows at Malfoy. He looks smaller when he’s cross, a bit sharp and aggravated. The same inviting flush colours his cheeks and Harry sighs. “Prat.”

“Sanctimonious arse.”

“Dickhead.”

“Idiot.” Malfoy’s closer now, his eyes shining and his lips curving into a smile. Harry thumbs his cheek, watching him. He can’t stop the grin which spreads across his face and Malfoy looks almost surprised by it, before turning away with a pleased smile on his face. “Come on, Potter. It’s freezing.”

“Okay.” Harry falls into step next to Malfoy again and as they walk, Malfoy doesn’t let go of his hand.

*

They happen across a small graveyard after half an hour of walking and Harry releases Malfoy’s hand so they can walk through the rickety gate. It feels a bit strange, holding hands in a graveyard so they keep their arms by their sides and make their way along the small paths. Eventually, they reach a grave which looks old with a name etched on it which has been worn away by weather and time.

“This was some great great uncle I think.” Malfoy peers at the stone, his brow furrowed. “I remember coming here with father. He told me what a good man he was, which probably means he was a cretin.”

Harry doesn’t pass comment. He suspects Malfoy’s all too aware of Harry’s opinions of his dad and he doesn’t want to agree too whole-heartedly with this tentative truce flourishing between them.

“I hate graveyards.” Harry shivers, the taste of spells from the war metallic and bitter on his tongue. He can almost hear the shouts and see the rainbow bright spells flashing through the night sky. He can see Voldemort coming back to full form and another shiver passes through him. 

“Me too.” Malfoy crouches at the grave, resting on his haunches. He brushes a leather-clad finger over the name before withdrawing his hand, lost in his own thoughts. “They’re eerie. A bit like the Manor these days.”

Harry wraps a solid arm around Malfoy as he stands, contemplating the grave with him for a moment. He tries to imagine what those fleeting holidays at the Manor must have been like during Voldemort’s occupation. He can still remember his own time there, Draco looking at his swollen face and Harry being so desperate to leave. The air was stale with dust and death and the lights flickered and flamed, the house full of darkness and shadows.

“You’ve got your new place now.”

“Finally.” Malfoy shifts close to Harry, letting himself be held. After a moment he turns in Harry’s arm until they’re eye to eye. He reaches a hand into Harry’s hair and kisses him – slow and sweet and without urgency. He tastes like the hot chocolate they had in the local café only a few moments before and his lips are warm and inviting. Harry sighs into the kiss, which is significantly more chaste than the last. He wraps Malfoy in his arms and the warm hold is reciprocated until Malfoy breaks the kiss and rests his face in the crook of Harry’s neck. “Let’s go back.”

Harry’s suddenly desperate to make things up to Malfoy with kisses and slow, heated touches. “Yeah.” He tries to catch his breath when Malfoy gives him that look, his eyes dark and shining. “Let’s.”

*

There isn’t any awkward conversation as they go back to The Dog and Duck and there’s no questions asked when they both make their way upstairs. It’s late afternoon by now and the sun has set on the day as it always does at this time of year. It feels somehow quite decadent going to bed in the afternoon but there’s nowhere else Harry wants to be. His body is heavy with sleep but an excitement and nervous anticipation runs through his veins.

He follows Malfoy into his room, taking in the empty pot which had previously held several teabags and the rumpled sheets. There’s a book open on the bedside cabinet with reading glasses next to it and Harry feels with absolute certainty that Malfoy had as little sleep as he did. He mentally curses himself for not just going back to see Malfoy that night but perhaps they needed those hours apart for Harry to work through the confused mass of thoughts racing through his mind.

He slips off his jacket and gloves, pulling off his shoes and socks and sitting on the bed. When he reaches out a hand, Malfoy does the same and comes willingly. They fall into an easy kiss, their noses cold from the long walk in the chilly winter air and their lips quickly warming against one another. Harry sighs into the kiss, rolling Malfoy back onto the bed and settling over him, kissing him again.

What starts as a slow, tender thing becomes hotter and firmer as Malfoy begins to press into Harry and his own cock hardens against Malfoy’s thigh. He groans into the kiss and slips his hand under Malfoy’s jumper, pushing it up.

“Can you?”

“Yes.” Malfoy sits, pulling off his jumper and helping Harry off with his own then they’re kissing again. Molten hot and desperate, the kisses take on an entirely new meaning like this with their torsos warm and pressed together. Harry takes his time mapping out the contours of Malfoy’s collarbones and the soft almost translucent skin. He stops when he reaches Malfoy’s buckle and opens it slowly, looking up at Malfoy. 

“Okay?”

Malfoy nods and watches Harry with flushed cheeks and parted lips. When Harry’s worked off Malfoy’s jeans and underpants, he takes off his own and then rolls back onto Malfoy again kissing him soundly.

“Will you fuck me?” Malfoy’s voice sounds thin and unsteady in the still room and Harry pulls back, his breathing shallow.

“Really?”

“No, Potter. God.” Malfoy rolls his eyes and then gestures to an expensive looking leather weekend bag. “You’ll need lube. No magic, remember. In the bag.”

Harry swallows, his heart racing. “You came prepared.”

“Bugger off.” Malfoy huffs and nudges Harry off him. It’s difficult to look quite so huffy with his hair sticking up and his body naked on the rumbled sheets, but he does a fairly decent job. “If I didn’t think about these things you’d have barged in like a clumsy oaf and put me off sex for life.”

Harry snorts because no, actually, he wouldn’t. The thought of hurting Malfoy makes something fierce and protective flare in his chest. He gets off the bed and rummages through the bag until he retrieves a small phial with an X on the front. He holds it up with a grin. “Lube or posh hair gel? I never know with you.”

Malfoy glares. “Lube, obviously. Why on earth would I put an ‘X’ on it if I was only planning to use it on my hair?” He settles back on the bed, stroking himself lazily. “Are you coming back up here or are you going to sit around making horrible jokes for the rest of the afternoon?”

“Definitely coming up there.” Harry’s jokes about Malfoy’s hair leave him in a rush and he’s back over Malfoy in a heartbeat, capturing his lips in a heated kiss. They press together like that until they’re gasping and breathless and then Harry finally uncorks the small bottle of liquid and slicks his fingers. “Have you…?”

“Not with anyone else.” Malfoy purses his lips as if daring Harry to laugh at him. “You?”

“Nope.” Harry shifts Malfoy’s legs apart and slowly rubs a slick finger over Malfoy’s hole, biting back a groan. “I’ll go slow.”

“I don’t care.” Malfoy sounds cross but there’s a tentative edge to his words. Harry kisses him again, over and over, just getting used to the feeling of his slick fingers rubbing between the cheeks of Malfoy’s backside and letting him relax. Finally, he pushes his finger inside Malfoy. It takes a moment to try to settle his own breathing as he feels Malfoy, tight and hot around him. He kisses Malfoy again and then begins to move. He might not have much experience in practice but he’s done plenty of reading and he knows what he’s looking for. He takes his time, curling his fingers inside Malfoy after working in a second and then Malfoy’s gripping onto his shoulders and murmuring his name over and over.

It’s so _good_ watching Malfoy’s eyes shutter closed and hearing the sounds which escape from his parted lips. He looks so fucking beautiful it steals Harry’s breath from his lungs and squeezes at his heart. It’s official. Harry’s completely lost his marbles for Malfoy. With a low growl, he pushes his fingers deep into him and captures his lips in a kiss that’s more teeth, tongue and breathy moans than anything else. Only when Malfoy’s saying _come on, come on_ and Harry’s so hard it’s almost painful, does he slide his fingers out of Malfoy.

He slicks his cock and then pushes Malfoy’s legs up before working into him slowly. They both let out a groan of pleasure and then they’re doing it, just like that. It should be awkward and crap the first time but even as they try to get the angle right and Harry nearly falls out of Malfoy, they manage to give each other breathless smiles and it’s _perfect_. Malfoy’s cheeks and chest are pink and Harry’s cheeks heat with pleasure at the way Malfoy looks at him. Malfoy’s forehead is damp with perspiration and Harry gathers the salty taste of him on his tongue. He tastes divine. His skin is hot, smooth and damp and his light cologne and the scent of masculine sweat and sex fills Harry’s nostrils. Pleasure courses through his body and every last push and thrust makes his legs shake and his whole body spark with pleasure. Malfoy looks equally content, his eyes lidded as he watches Harry and his tongue flicking out over his lips. Harry kisses him. Again and again. He kisses away the furious arguments and the back and forth of the last year. He kisses away the stupid, hurtful decision of the previous night and slides his hands over Malfoy’s body wanting to touch and soothe every inch of him. He’ll never be able to kiss away the past when they were both two young boys who didn’t know any better, but he tries to ease it. He whispers in Malfoy’s ear, just a soft _Draco_ which sounds more full of emotion than he intends.

It seems to do the trick. It makes Malfoy buck and flex beneath him and then he’s coming, clenching hard and hot around Harry. With a few more thrusts, Harry comes deep inside Malfoy only falling back onto the bed when he’s caught his breath.

“Fuck.”

“Eloquent, Potter.” Malfoy sounds amused and decidedly more coherent than Harry.

“I’m knackered.” Harry isn’t exactly. The sleep he missed is definitely catching up with him and his whole body is warm and sated, but his skin is buzzing and the taste of Malfoy is rich on his lips. “Don’t be a prat when I’m trying to sleep.”

“You’re going to _sleep_?” Malfoy snorts but he curls up next to Harry nevertheless. The message is clear. You’re not going anywhere, not this time. With a grin, Harry wraps an arm around Malfoy and groans when he’s rewarded with a tug of his chest hair. “You really are a bit of a caveman, aren’t you?”

“Just because you look like you haven’t even gone through puberty,” Harry mutters. It’s not exactly true. Malfoy is hard and chiselled in all the right places and he looks so good it’s enough to leave Harry’s spent cock twitching feebly at the thought of round two.

“Maybe I am a bit tired.” Malfoy yawns and it’s surprisingly pleasant, having Malfoy sleepy and sated curled up close. He’s a lot less aggravating after a good shag and a mind-blowing orgasm. Harry files that information away for future reference.

“Go to sleep then and stop being annoying.” Harry kisses Malfoy’s head, an intimate gesture which he hopes takes any sting out of his words.

Malfoy pokes him. “You’re the annoying one. I bet you snore.”

“I don’t. You’re probably a duvet thief.”

“Hardly.” Malfoy presses close, his lips against Harry’s chest. “I don’t want to go back to London. I like it here.”

Harry cracks open his eyes and studies Malfoy. “We can come back if you like. Share one of those chocolate ice-creams that your dad wouldn’t let you finish in the summer.”

“I suppose.” Malfoy looks pleased. “We probably should go to this end of year party too. The one you’ve put absolutely no work into.”

“Don’t forget the Potent Potion.” Harry grins and gives Malfoy a quick kiss, just because he can. “Took me ages to come up with that. I had a stonking hangover when I finally cracked it.”

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I expect you to help out instead of getting pissed. What if there’s a problem with the catering?”

“I’ll be fine.” Harry nudges Malfoy, taking a deep breath. “We could go together if you like?”

Malfoy’s eyes widen and then he smirks. “Obviously we’re going together. I can’t let you out in your usual jeans and ill-fitting jumper. I’ll have to dress you.”

Harry rolls over, not feeling quite so sleepy anymore. He mouths a line of kisses along the arch of Draco’s neck, his voice low and sure. “Or _undress_ me.”

“Or that.” Malfoy’s breath hitches and he pushes Harry back before kissing him soundly. “Don’t you think it’s my turn?”

A pleasant shiver travels down the length of Harry’s spine and he nods. “Yeah. Only seems fair, doesn’t it?”

Malfoy kisses him again and they don’t talk about much else for a very long time.

_~Fin~_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can show your appreciation for the author in a comment here or on [Livejournal](http://hd-erised.livejournal.com/78326.html) . ♥
> 
> This story is part of an on-going anonymous fest hosted at hd_erised @ livejournal.com. The author will be revealed January 9th.


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